


Buried

by hunenka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s14e09 The Spear, Gen, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 08:16:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17443247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunenka/pseuds/hunenka
Summary: “You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” Dean growls, and drives his fist into Michael’s teeth.





	Buried

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Погребённый / Buried](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17733515) by [impala65](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impala65/pseuds/impala65)



“And now,” Michael makes a small pause to build the suspense, “I have a whole army out there, waiting, ready for my command. Ready for _this_.”

Three sets of alarmed eyes are fixed on his raised hand. Michael lets a few more seconds pass by, for dramatic effect, and to savor the moment.

Then he snaps his fingers.

And starts tapping out a snappy rhythm with his left foot.

He didn’t mean to do that. He stops the motion immediately, but right after that, the fingers of his right hand move without his volition, _snap_ _snap snap_ , until he puts a stop to that too.

The three men standing in front of him watch this with confusion before sharing glances and moving forward. As if they could ever harm Michael, especially in _this_ vessel. He swats them away with a careless wave of his hand, knocking them out, but it’s not as easy as it should be; there’s resistance where there should be none.

“What—” He makes a step, and it’s like moving through knee-high snow, and that’s not even his thought. “Dean,” he realizes, and then the world around him blurs and he’s no longer on the top floor of Hitomi Plaza—he’s getting punched in the face, and the blow _hurts_.

A surge of his power sends Dean flying backwards and he hits the ground hard, but gets back on his feet immediately, marching towards Michael with grim determination, hands curled into fists. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” he growls, and drives his fist into Michael’s teeth. Then another, and another, and Michael is stumbling backwards, and then there’s a door slamming in his face and he finds himself locked up in a cell, Dean grinning at him from the other side.

“You can’t do this,” Michael seethes, shaking the iron bars, but they won’t budge. Trying a different tactic, he reaches out with his mind, pulling Dean closer and slamming him into the bars so hard the air is knocked out of him, several bones crunching on impact. “You _can’t._ You’re—”

“What?” Dean asks hoarsely, blood dribbling down his chin. “Crushed and disappointed into obedience?” He snorts, then winces, but keeps talking. “You really haven’t been paying attention the last time you wore this fine body, have you?”

Hand slipping through the bars to wrap around Dean’s throat, Michael squeezes, watching with satisfaction as Dean’s face turns red, eyes bulging, feet kicking helplessly at the air. Then he lets go, lets him crumple to the ground. “What are you talking about?”

Dean doesn’t reply at once—he can’t, wheezing and gasping for air on the floor—and Michael uses that time to break out of his prison cell; it’s easy to do now that Dean’s concentration is on trying to get his body to work again.

“I’m talking about,” Dean says, sitting up slowly, shaky arms supporting him as he leans forward to spit blood, “your genius plan. You think a little disappointment is gonna stop me?” His laughter sounds sad, and a little crazy, and somehow, very unsettling. “My whole life is one long, epic streak of disappointments. Things go wrong all the time.” He spits again, a big red splat on the floor. “People let me down and I let people down, and I lose way more often than I win.”

“What a sad story.” Michael crouches to grab Dean by the front of his shirt. “Your point being?”

“My point being, I’m still here, fightin’,” Dean snarls at him, and wraps his hands around Michael’s neck. “And I’m not gonna quit.”

What an annoying fly. With a thought, Dean’s hands are knocked off, and he ends up on the floor again, Michael standing up to tower over him. “You can’t stop me.”

“Oh, we’ll see.” Dean’s pushing to his feet, gearing up for another attack.

But he won’t catch Michael off guard ever again. A snap of fingers, and Dean’s the one behind bars, as he should be. Locked away. Buried.

Michael smiles. “Enjoy your stay,” he says, and then he’s back in the real world, in Hitomi Plaza’s top floor glass-walled office overlooking the city below. What a view—perfect for watching his plan play itself out, perfectly.

Except for his left foot, tapping a snappy rhythm on the floor _again_.

 

 

 


End file.
